


The Boy with the Sun in His Hair

by Emery



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Singing, Slight Manipulative Tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:12:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emery/pseuds/Emery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Armin likes to pretend that he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but Erwin knows better than anyone that the boy’s emotions are deep, complex, and open like a great tome waiting to be read. Erwin has to admit, though, that the teenager is a talented actor—just not talented enough to fool the commander of the scouting legion, the man who sees parts of himself in Armin and who loves the boy more than he’s willing to admit.</i>
</p><p>Commander Erwin Smith knows just what to do when Armin Arlert, a young recruit, nears his breaking point. Alone in his private quarters with a beam of light shining through the open window, Erwin sings to his favorite tactician--the boy with the sun in his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy with the Sun in His Hair

**Author's Note:**

> Slight manga spoilers for chapter 49.
> 
> Written for a friend of mine who cosplays the Armin to my Erwin. We firmly believe that they really are this adorkable.

Armin likes to pretend that he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but Erwin knows better than anyone that the boy’s emotions are deep, complex, and open like a great tome waiting to be read. Erwin has to admit, though, that the teenager is a talented actor—just not talented enough to fool the commander of the scouting legion, the man who sees parts of himself in Armin and who loves the boy more than he’s willing to admit.

Armin is good at stretching reluctant lips into a smile and forcing encouraging words through his lips, even when they are red and swollen from tears freshly shed in private—in the lavatory or the barracks or behind the mess hall.

“Arlert.” Erwin hates how harsh the surname sounds even when he does his best to utter it gently, and he hopes he makes up for the abrupt address when he rests his hand on Armin’s shoulder.

The sun beats down on them where they stand on dry, cracked ground spotted with brown tufts of grass in the training field. Erwin notices the way that Armin’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and how exhausted he looks from the brief sparring sessions in the heat. It’s impressive how much Armin has grown since the previous year’s summer, when Erwin first became acquainted with him as a new recruit and novice tactician. He’s stronger now, both physically and mentally, and Erwin has to keep the proud smile from his face. There are other soldiers wandering the grounds, and Erwin knows that such an expression would be immediately interpreted as a gesture of favoritism.

Armin turns swiftly and salutes, like an automatic reflex upon hearing the commander utter his name.

The action is appreciated, but the swiftness with which Erwin says “At ease, Armin,” reveals that he had been expecting the immediate salute. A solider as enthusiastic and loyal as Armin would certainly provide no less.

Erwin takes a long look at Armin’s face. It’s difficult not to reach out, then and there, and take Armin’s chin between his fingers or let the back of his hand caress the smooth curves of Armin’s round cheeks. With his usual precision, Erwin examines him, and he can see that there’s so much wrong.

“You mentioned having some ideas for an adjusted formation. I’ll have some juice made—your favorite, the lemonade and apple—and we’ll discuss them?” Erwin’s statement is spoken more like a question despite being an order. Armin glances over his shoulder, but Erwin is already prepared. “I’ll excuse your absence later.” Erwin grins when he sees the captain in the distance, not even as tall as many of the young trainees on the field. “You know, Armin, Levi isn’t as scary as he seems.”

When Armin smiles and tries to laugh, Erwin’s heart breaks, because it’s so obvious that the happiness is a shaky façade. The commander looks down on a boy who’s struggling, so clearly struggling, and it breaks his heart. Blue eyes meet blue, and there’s a depth of meaning exchanged in that simple glance that only Armin and Erwin can understand.

“Come on. Let’s talk.”

Armin wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and nods, and the expression that clouds his features is like some mixture of guilt and fear, probably because he knows he’s been caught and that his acting wasn’t good enough this time around.

It’s slow going across the training field as the sun beats down on their backs, and Erwin lifts his hand to wipe the bangs from where they’re beginning to stick to the damp skin of his forehead.

“I’m proud of you, Armin. You’re coming a long way,” Erwin says. He keeps his gaze set straight ahead on the three-story building that looms above them a short distance away—the officers’ quarters. The entire top floor belongs to the commander, who is grateful when he watches a lazy breeze rustle the curtains just inside the opened windows. Perhaps the room won’t be sweltering when he and Armin return, after all.

“Thank you, sir.”

The comment seems strange, at first—Erwin doesn’t even realize that he complimented the young recruit a few seconds prior—but he nods to acknowledge Armin’s gratefulness. The boy is polite and meek, and even though it’s a work in progress, he’s learning to appreciate his own self-worth. Erwin is reminded of himself, when he was Armin’s age.

_You’ll go far, Arlert._

Armin has been invited to Erwin’s quarters often enough to show himself upstairs when Erwin opens the front door for the younger soldier and ushers him inside. The distance in Armin’s sunken eyes doesn’t mesh with the jolly way he prances up the first flight of stairs, and Erwin watches with concern. Now that Armin is inside, out of sight of the other recruits his age, Erwin notices how his shoulders slump and he hangs his head.

“Armin.”

Soft, gentle, and _urgent_ , the name slips through Erwin’s lips as he closes a door to provide them with some privacy. He wants Armin to know the importance of his own feelings, and so he breaches the topic with the utmost respect and the most firmness he can muster without scaring his preferred tactician away.

Armin, too, seems to let all remaining guards down, his inhibitions escaping with the puff of air that leaves him through a heavy sigh.

Erwin insists, “There’s something wrong, is there not?”

Blond locks that seem to always be growing longer slide to and fro on Armin’s shoulders when he shrugs with as little energy as possible.

He didn’t want to, but Erwin knows that he’ll have to answer his own question, because Armin is too stubborn to admit his own mental and emotional weaknesses.

“It’s too much. You saw some of your comrades die in the expedition last week. …Not long ago, you watched this.” Erwin inclines his head down and slightly to the right, indicating what remains of his arm. “The training isn’t easy—I’m aware of that.”

Erwin pauses to let his words sink in, and in the meantime takes a seat on the side of his bed. A pitcher of fresh juice and a couple of glasses sit on the bedside table, untouched. The fact that Armin hasn’t already helped himself to two full glasses of the sweet liquid speaks volumes—he’s even more upset than Erwin originally anticipated.

He pats the empty space on the bed beside him and waits for Armin to sit down before uttering the sentence that he knows will cause Armin’s resolve to break, then says flatly and without mercy, “You’re worried about Eren’s stability. You know that the experiments are endangering his life.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Erwin watches Armin’s face fall. The boy worries his bottom lip between his teeth, and his eyebrows draw together over eyes shut tightly in an attempt to defend against the threat of tears. All at once, in a shocking outburst, Armin’s entire body shakes with the force of his sobs.

It’s heartbreaking the way that Armin’s face contorts with worry and fear and sadness, and Erwin knows immediately that he would do anything within his power to put a stop to it. Before there’s time to fully consider the implications of his actions, his arms are already wrapped around Armin’s small shoulders and pulling him backwards as he swings his legs up onto the bed and lies down. Armin is light, easily moved and manipulated in the strength of Erwin’s grip, and his ear ends up pressed to Erwin’s chest, over his heart. Silky blond strands splay across Erwin and tickle his neck, and when a ray of sunlight peeks in the open window, Armin’s hair is illuminated in a way Erwin has never witnessed.

The angle of the light is just right, the intensity perfect, and Erwin wonders if Armin can hear his heart beat faster with the realization that the boy is _beautiful_ , even with diamond droplet tears collecting on his pale lashes and a rosy blush reddening the tip of his nose.

As he rubs Armin’s back in what he hopes are slow, soothing circles with his remaining hand, he notices again the radiance of Armin’s hair. For some reason, he sings.

It must be instinct, the way that the notes pour from his lips, because Erwin’s not sure of any other reason why he would be singing.

“ _Sunshine, you are my sunshine_ —“

Armin hiccups, and Erwin wonders if he’s laughing or just trying not to cry.

“ _You’ll never know dear, how much I love you_ —“

The small body shudders in Erwin’s grip, but otherwise becomes silent.

“ _Never take my sunshine away_.”

“Sir?”

“Yeah.”

When Erwin peers down, Armin is looking up at him, eyes wide but swollen at the edges with the remains of tears. There’s a question on his face—one that Erwin feels no obligation to answer. Instead, he grins at Armin and tightens his arm’s hold around him.

“Y-you have a nice voice,” Armin ventures.

“Are you going to stop crying?”

Erwin’s eyes are closed now, but he can hear the manipulation and the tell-tale smirk in Armin’s voice when he says, “Maybe if you sing again.”

There’s no way that Erwin could ever bring himself to say no, especially when Armin curls closer into him and nuzzles his face into the side of Erwin’s neck.

He sings the same verse again, and Armin’s sobs stop entirely. The next time, Erwin hums instead, and that’s when he feels _really_ successful because he swears he can feel Armin smiling against his skin.

“That’s more like it,” Erwin chuckles.

He knows Armin’s life is hard. He knows he can’t honestly tell the boy that there’s no reason to cry. There are nights when even he, the commander of the scouting legion, is plagued with sadness and can’t stop the sobs from shaking his body. There’s little he can do about that—to hold the fate of humanity in the palm of his hand is too much of a responsibility to handle without some emotional compromise—but he promises himself to never let Armin find out.

Erwin will be an example, a strong, capable figurehead, especially for his favorite recruit—the one Erwin will always call his Armin, the boy with the sun in his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism, general suggestions, and other comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Don't forget to come visit me on [my Tumblr blog](http://emeryylee.tumblr.com).


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